Hold Me Close, Just For A Moment
by AlwaysEachOther
Summary: There is one thing that Michael tends to do a lot that Fi loves, where he'll cup her face with his palm, and stroke her cheek gently with his fingers. A look at one of the parallels in Michael and Fiona's relationship.


_This is a story I've been working on for awhile, but I wanted to finish it quickly when I got some really lovely reviews on my last story. Thank you to those people for their kind words and support, they brightened my day and motivated me to finish this. This story is dedicated to those people, particularly one guest reviewer who is going on vacation this week and wanted something new to read. I hope you enjoy this and keep reviewing. This one is a little different from what I normally write, but I really enjoyed writing it and the idea behind it. I'm working hard on my first Michael and Fi multi chapter story, which I will hopefully start posting soon. Obviously the lines and scenes from the show that I have used here are not mine, they belong to Matt Nix and the writers._

 _Here's a list of the episodes I used, in order, in case anyone has forgotten or wants to know._

 _7.02 Forget Me Not (preshow flashback)_

 _1.07 Broken Rules_

 _2.11 Hot Spot_

 _3.09 Long Way Back_

 _4.13 Eyes Open_

 _5.13 Damned If You Do_

 _6.03 Last Rites_

 _7.13 Reckoning_

/

To say Michael and Fiona are not the most affectionate couple would be an understatement. It's a combination of who they are as people, as well as their line of work that's made them this way. However, there is one thing that Michael tends to do a lot that Fi loves, where he'll cup her face with his palm, and stroke her cheek gently with his fingers. It serves as both an action of comfort and communication. Sometimes he does it to reassure her, or to reassure himself. Other times it's to send a message. Whatever his intention is though, it never fails to comfort her and make her feel cherished. For those few seconds, she can feel like the most important thing in his world.

/

The first time he does it, they're in Ireland. They haven't known each other long, but he already has such a hold on her heart that she knows he could destroy her if he wanted.

He's strapping a bulletproof vest to her body, silent in his work. She asks him why he's so quiet, and he admits softly that he's worried for her.

"I don't worry, not since I was a little girl." She tells him, sitting by the window and turning to face him.

He looks down at her, half curling his hand and touching the back of his fingers to her cheek, sweeping slightly down to her jaw.

She leans into it, maintaining eye contact with him. She's touched by how concerned he is. No one's ever treated her like this before, and she's never felt this way about anyone.

For a moment, the entire world is just the two of them. Nothing else matters.

/

One night, early on in his extended Miami stay, she walks into his loft demanding that they talk, or she'll kick his ass. While it seems like a laughable moment considering her petite frame against his, he knows she is deadly serious. Especially once she twirls her hair up and secures it with a clip.

"You promised, Michael." She reminds him.

"Yeah, I promised to talk about it. I didn't promise I'd know what to say." He tells her honestly, but it comes off as evasive.

All she wants is to know where she stands, where their relationship is going. She's been around in Miami for some time now, and she's made her feelings towards their relationship perfectly clear. He takes it upon himself to remind her of how unhappy they were, displaying his battle scars as evidence.

"As unhappy as we were, I don't think there's anyone I could be with that would make me happier than you. I don't know if that's good enough." He admits.

"It's not." She tells him frankly.

She turns away for a split second before turning back and aiming a punch at him. He blocks it expertly, but caught by surprise, he misses when she aims another shot at his stomach. They grapple for a minute, and he accidentally whacks her in the process. He apologises immediately, holding his hands up in defence. His actions don't deter her though, as a smirk overtakes her features.

She advances on him, blocking and kicking her way to him, taking him down to the floor only to help him back up. They pull close but he ducks away, tossing her over his shoulder so she falls flat on his bed. They struggle for a few moments before she ends up on top. They stare at each other in silence, then he catches her by surprise as he flips them over, so he's now on top of her.

One hand cupping the back of her neck, he brings his other hand up to her face and caresses her cheek, his lips edging closer to hers. They both know what's about to happen, that his gentle touch is an indicator of things to come.

Michael may have superior control in all situations, but when it comes to Fiona, he is often left powerless.

/

He thought she was dead. He's been driving around for hours looking for her, and now she's standing in front of him like an apparition. He stumbles towards her, drenched from the rain that's pouring down outside. It's the first time he's had to seriously consider a world without her, and it has been hell. He needs to know that she's real and not a figment of his emotionally exhausted brain. His hands reach up to cup her face, first one, then the other.

Raindrops fall from his body onto her face, and she closes her eyes as he touches her so tenderly. Never before has she seen such intensity in his expression, his blue eyes haunted. The feel of his hands on her face burns into her skin. It's an action he's done before, but it feels so very different in this moment. It's as if he's holding his life in his hands.

He presses his forehead against hers, and it finally sinks in that she's really here. She didn't die in that fire. He breathes out and tilts his head to connect his lips with hers. He only removes his hands in order to wrap his arms around her body, pulling her closer to him as they embrace. Nothing is close enough.

/

His heart stills the moment his eyes finally locate her, taking in the view of her body floating prone and facedown in the water. Her name falls from his lips, sounding frantic and fearful. He makes his way to her as fast as he can, slogging through the shallow water and praying to whatever god or deity there is.

He carries her from the water and sets her down gently on the sandy shore. He winces as he takes in the sight of her bloody arm, and takes it gently into his hands. She cries out at the movement, her body jolting and shying away from the wound.

His hand slides up her body, one behind her neck to support her head, and the other up to her cheek, forcing her to make eye contact with him. He knows he needs to keep her awake and alert, to prevent her body from going in to shock. He's sure she can see the worry on his face, but he doesn't care. He's just so glad to have her with him, alive. He tries to show his feelings through the touch of hand on her face. Her eyes are glassy, practically staring straight through him, so he uses his hold on her cheek to anchor her to him. She's here, and she's alive. In that moment it's all he could have hoped for.

He does it again later that day, as she's lying on the couch in his mother's house, waking and murmuring his name. Her eyes keep drifting closed and he strokes her forehead, pushing her hair out of the way before letting it drift down to rest on her cheekbone. He has a hopeless smile on his face, happy to see her beautiful eyes again.

Hours ago he'd been struggling with his words, unable to comprehend that she was getting ready to leave him. And leave him she almost did, in a way that would have been much more bloody and horrible. She tries to speak, but her voice fails, whether it's from exhaustion over the day's events or their usual inability to communicate their true feelings. Whatever it is, he doesn't care. He repeats her earlier words back at her.

"It's okay," he smiles. "We're no good at this."

He keeps stroking her forehead as she slips back into unconsciousness, both comforting her and reassuring himself. She's still here with him.

/

He's concocted another plan, as usual, this time involving a psychopathic bomber who has barricaded himself inside Fiona's new house, only days after being released from the hospital from taking a bullet through the chest. It's really not one of his most thought out plans, but they don't have much time.

She follows and tries to reason with him, pointing out that he can't get involved in another police situation. More than anything, she doesn't want to see him get hurt again, especially since she almost lost him only a few days prior.

"It's okay." He says softly. His right hand reaches up to press against the side of her face, lingering for the briefest of seconds. It slides to her jawline before falling away as he leaves. His actions have done little to reassure her, but it's the most affectionate he can let himself be in front of Sam and Jesse, so she'll take what she can get. She knows it's his way of promising to try and come back in one piece.

He manages to keep his promise as he emerges from her new house right before it's blown to pieces. The bright blue building becomes engulfed in red-orange flames, and she can feel the sting from where they stand across the street. He's still lying on the lawn from when police pinned him down, and she worries about his current injuries getting worse, but at least he's not in the burning building. He came back to her.

/

He stands on the balcony of the loft, still reeling from Anson's confession of his role in his burn notice, as well as the events of the previous day that had lead to Fiona blowing up an embassy building.

He knows the situation is bad. They've been in plenty of bad situations before, but this one is quickly causing fear and panic to rise in his chest, despite how skilled he is at disguising his emotions. Someone purposely manipulated Fiona to use her against him. If this isn't his worst fear come to life, he's not sure what is.

Love nothing, and nothing you love can be used against you. It's logical, and it makes perfect sense to him. He'd lived by that simple rule for years, decades even, until he'd been forced back to Miami and Fiona had come crashing back into his life, along with Sam, his mom, and Nate, and later, Jesse. In this moment he wishes he had stayed that way, cut off from others, unable to impact their lives in such horrible ways. Maybe then he wouldn't be in this predicament right now.

He makes his way inside and perches on the side of the bed, his gaze falling to Fiona in her sleeping state. As logical as it would be to be alone and unattached, he knows this life is better, even if it's more complicated. How could he ever be without this woman before him? He's done it before, and he knows how it feels to be away from her. She's so beautiful, and he's terrible at expressing himself, but he knows with every fibre of his being that he loves her. This woman did everything she could yesterday to save him, and he knows he would do the same for her. So now, it is time to fight for her.

Her eyes flutter as she wakes slowly, staring up at him. He gives her a look that he saves just for her; soft in a way that no one would imagine from him. He reaches out and sweeps his hand across her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone gently. She smiles at him sleepily, relishing the feel of his fingers on her skin. He's not sure whether he's trying to reassure her or himself, but to him his actions are a promise.

 _I will do whatever it takes to fix this_ he whispers internally _. I won't let anyone take you away from me_.

He doesn't say any of this out loud. He simply smiles at her and leaves the loft for his meeting. He's better at proving his love, rather than saying it.

/

There's one time in their relationship where he wants to hold her, to run his fingers across her cheekbone, but he can't. Because there's a glass wall between them.

He's been waiting weeks to see her. He has to see her; not only for his sanity but to prove to her that he's working to get her out. Nothing makes sense without her and he can feel himself losing who is he. She's his conscience and his protector, the person who makes him a better man. She shouldn't be in here, she's in here because of him and she doesn't deserve it. He wants to break the glass, grab her and make a run for it. But he can't. There's nothing he can do.

The sound of a buzzer draws his attention and he looks up to see her walking through the door, her small frame swimming in a bright orange uniform. His heart breaks as he notices how different she looks, how un-Fiona she appears, but he covers it up with one of his specialty fake smiles, hoping his eyes don't betray his true feelings. If anyone can notice the walls he puts up, it's her.

They stare at each other for a moment, and he quickly loses control of his emotions. He can feel the tears welling in his eyes already. He reaches over to pick up the phone and press it to his ear. She follows suit.

"Now you see why I never wear orange." She makes an attempt at a joke, trying to make him smile. She can see how quickly he's losing control, something she knows he hates.

"You look beautiful." He chokes out, completely serious. His voice wavers even more as he keeps talking, as close to rambling as he's ever been. "I'm gonna get you out. I promise you that. And we're – we're getting close. The CIA –"

"I love you too, Michael." She interrupts him. She knows what he's really trying to say, he's just using too many words to do it. Her stoic spy is breaking right in front of her eyes and it's making her feel even worse than she already did.

"We don't have much time. I don't wanna talk about that."

He knows what she's asking; she wants him to distract her. She wants to pretend that it's any other day and they're anywhere but here, living their lives as normal. He thinks for a minute and raises his eyes back to hers.

"You know what I was thinking about the other day? That little dingy bar in Belfast – the Black Sand Pub."

She smiles through her tears in recollection, knowing that he's trying to distract her with stories of happier times. "You mean where we met."

So he tells her the story of the first time they met, as if she wasn't there. It's when he slips into his Michael McBride Irish accent that they lose it. He's smiling through his tears and it's breaking her heart. She wants to reach across and smooth out the lines on his face, and kiss away the pain in his eyes.

He keeps talking to her, entertaining her with stories of their past, and feeling his heart tear as she continues to cry. What he wouldn't give to be able to reach out, stroke her cheek and brush away the tears with his fingers. He wants to reassure her with his touch, but all his has is his words. Expressing himself vocally has never been his strong point, but he'll do anything for her right now.

"I love you." He says softly, but firmly through the phone. He's always struggled with those words before, but they come surprisingly easy. They're the truest words he's ever spoken in his life, and he knows she needs to hear them.

She cries harder, clutches the phone tighter and whispers it back through her tears. Those three words are all they have right now, and they're what they'll cling to until they can hold each other again.

/

He shoots Sonya in the back.

He hesitates a bit too long, and he has the most awful look in his eyes, but he does it. There's no way he could let Fiona die.

Fi realises what has happened, what he's done, and the fact that she's neither dead nor bleeding on the ground. She steps towards him, but whips around to shoot a guard that attempts to apprehend them. When she turns back to Michael he fixes her with one of his soft smiles reserved for her, and brings his hand up to her face. Just like that, she can see her Michael again, crawling out from the darkness that has swallowed him in recent months. The man she loves is still there. Thank God she hadn't given up on him. One touch, and they are themselves again.

He only releases her face to take her hand and pull her away from the chaos that is about to surround them.

/

They're pinned down behind a large storage container, dodging the bullets coming from James and his men. They raise their weapons, aiming and shooting back repeatedly. Outnumbered as they are, it doesn't take long for both of them to empty their clips. Michael is out and Fi only has half left. They wait in silence, trying to come up with an escape.

Michael thinks of a plan, as he always has, and lays it out for the woman beside him. She objects at the insanity of it all, pointing out that he doesn't even have a gun.

"If this is about your death wish-" She glares at him.

"I want to live." He interrupts her. "Maybe more than I ever have."

Then he reaches up, curls his hand in the same way he did so many years ago, and brushes his fingertips against her cheek. He smiles softly at her, looking younger and more hopeful than he has in a long time. She closes her eyes, leaning into his hand and holding his wrist in place. His action is so familiar to her, and for a moment she is transported back in time, to all the moments he has done this before. They smile at each other, their feelings for each other written all over their face.

In that moment, it's just the two of them together in the world. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it gives them both the strength to make one last desperate attempt to survive.

Michael makes a run for it while Fi takes out the remaining two guards. She tosses her gun to him; he leans out from behind his hiding place and shoots James twice, square in the chest.

They approach him, and just when they think it's over, he holds up a detonator, his finger on a dead man's switch. They back away, their eyes widening in horror, but it's too late. James lets his hand go slack, the remote slipping from his grasp.

Michael reaches for her hand as they whirl around, making a run for it faster than they ever have before. The explosives go off, flames dashing behind them, trying to catch up. They keep a hold of each other as they run, even as Michael shoots the window out in front of them. If they can't make it out together, then neither of them will. They were always prepared to die with each other, rather than live alone.

They never let their hands drop, not even as they leap from the burning building and free fall into the water below them. They know they'll never let go again.


End file.
